


#7: Never Underestimate Freethrows in a Game of Horse

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Basketball, Coulson in shorts, Gen, Pre-Relationship, forced vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's bad at vacation. Phil makes him a wager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#7: Never Underestimate Freethrows in a Game of Horse

Clint was restless. He had never been good with inactivity; his childhood hadn’t exactly leant itself toward idleness, and it hadn’t taken too many times of having “sitting around on your lazy ass” beaten into him for Clint to get that message.

He hated being on vacation. Clint never knew what to do with himself. His apartment was big enough to need more than a day to even give it a thorough top to bottom scrubbing. He had been locked out of the SHIELD range, so he could only work out with his bow if he found a private club. His laundry was done. His freezer was stocked, and his pantry was organized.

It was his third day off. Of ten.

Clint was convinced he was going to go crazy before they let him go back to work. It wasn’t even noon and he’d already been on a five-mile run and done a full work out with the handweights he kept in his apartment. He found himself pacing around his apartment, randomly picking up and putting things down, trying to find something that would engage him for longer than the five minutes it took him to get bored. 

Fury hadn’t even let him gather his overdue paperwork before he’d been told to get gone from the building.

Maybe Natasha was right and he needed a hobby. 

When the knock sounded on his door, he was across the room and flinging it open before the knocking even stopped.

Coulson stood on his doorstep looking faintly amused, one hand still poised to knock, the other curled around the handle of a duffel bag and briefcase. 

“Do we have a mission, sir?” Clint asked, aware of the hopefulness that carried through his tone.

“I do,” Coulson said dryly as Clint stepped back to let him in.

“Phil?” Clint furrowed his brow, confused.

“I’m going to step out on a limb and guess that you’re bored out of your mind already,” Coulson suggested. “Because I’ve known you for four years and the only time you’re not practically vibrating when you’ve been forced to take time off is when you’ve been drugged into unconsciousness by medical.”

It was true. Every couple years HR tracked him down and forced Clint to take some of his extremely piled up vacation time. He always resisted until the last minute, then scheduled him when he knew that missions would be upcoming to pull him back to work. 

“And?” Clint prompted.

“I’m going to make you a deal,” Phil said. “Get changed into workout gear and I’ll explain.”

Clint glanced at the duffel bag. “Go,” Phil said, waving back toward Clint’s bedroom. “I’m going to use your bathroom.”

“Knock yourself out,” Clint said, moving down the hall. When he emerged a few minutes later in basketball shorts, a sleeveless t-shirt, and trainers, Phil was likewise dressed, standing in the middle of his living room. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Phil naked or nearly naked on several mission-related occasions, but even in the SHIELD gym he usually wore sweats. Despite rarely seeing him in anything other than a suit, Phil looked completely at ease.

“Here’s the deal,” he explained, brandishing the briefcase. “We’re going to the park. For every game of HORSE you win, you get one mission report to finish. For each that I win, you will take over an hour of junior agent training of my choice.”

Clint groaned theatrically. He knew Phil was giving him an outlet for his boredom here, but he also knew how much Phil hated teaching a couple of particular lessons and was always looking for a way to get out of them. 

“Take it or leave it,” Phil said with a shrug.

“I’ll take it,” Clint said quickly. After all, he never missed.

Two hours later, sweaty and thrumming slightly from the physical activity, they returned to Clint’s apartment. 

“I have to get back,” Phil said, waving off Clint’s offer of a beer. He pulled open his briefcase and passed over a stack of files. “There’s your seven reports,” he said. “And I’ll add the ten hours teaching to your schedule for once you’re back.” There was a glint in his eye that on anyone else Clint would have called evil. “Same thing tomorrow?” Phil asked innocently.

“Only if you come up with different terms,” Clint grumbled, accepting the files. “Where the hell did you learn to play basketball?” Clint’s skill was a combination of innate talent and practice on the rigged games of the midway so he could be a plant in the crowd.

“That’s classified,” Phil said, completely deadpan. He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed his briefcase. “See you tomorrow.” He headed for the door.

Clint nodded. “Hey, Phil?” he said, as the other man opened the door. “Thanks,” he said seriously when Phil looked back over his shoulder. He felt more settled than he had since being forced on leave, more like he could find something to occupy himself without going insane.

Phil nodded, and let himself out.


End file.
